Chapter Three
Lawrence stared at the stranger, hoping he hadn’t misheard. “You will?”
She nodded. “I gave Miss Smythe advice about how to elude your search because I thought you were the wicked Duke of Belmont. I owe it to you to help undo that mistake.”
Before Lawrence could thank her, she added, “If I can. I am a witch, but most of my magic is domestic.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “It’s been years since I even tried to work a location spell, and—”
He interrupted her. “A location spell won’t work.
Captain Craven is a wizard, and he cast a concealment spell over both Sally and himself.
I tried several different location spells, and none of them worked.
And I’m usually good with spells for finding people.
Especially people to whom I am related.” Kinship ties, friendship bonds, and familiarity all help strengthen such spells.
“I see.” She tapped her chin as she pondered. Then the corners of her lips quirked up. The smile lines around her eyes suggested that this expression came more naturally to her than the grim face with which she’d greeted him. Good humor suited her round, comfortable-looking face.
“What about spells for finding objects?” she asked.
“I am not as good with those,” Lawrence admitted. “My location spell only works if I have a personal connection to the object. That isn’t the case here.”
Her smile slowly broadened. “Perhaps I can help you there. I gave Miss Smythe a handkerchief and an umbrella. I doubt Captain Cowardly has had time to cast a concealment spell on either object. We could try searching for them.”
Lawrence’s lips twitched at the sound of “Captain Cowardly.” It was a fitting nickname. But he was not optimistic about the suggestion.
“Remember, we would need a personal bond to the object,” he reminded her. “Do you really have such an attachment to an umbrella?”
To his surprise, she chuckled. “Not the umbrella, no. But the handkerchief I gave your niece was a gift from my granddaughter. She stitched the monogram herself.” Quiet pride filled her voice.
“It was the first piece of embroidery she finished. It does have personal meaning for me—though, fortunately, I have others like it at home.”
“That might work. But I don’t think I can cast a spell like that tonight.” He was no longer hungry, but he was still tired and sore. Just thinking about casting a finding spell wearied him to the bone.
“Naturally, you will want to rest.” She glanced in the direction of the room’s single window and shook her head. “I doubt you could travel much further in this weather, anyway. What do you say we meet at breakfast to work the spell then?”
A yawn split Lawrence’s face. “Very well. I will see you at, say seven?”
“Seven it is.” She rose from the table. He stood up politely, too, which meant she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes.
Though she was short, she had a lush, womanly figure.
The phrase “pocket Venus” popped into Lawrence’s head, but he ruthlessly dismissed it.
This stranger was clearly a respectable matron, not a courtesan looking for a protector.
“Good night, Mrs.—?” Blast, what was her name? Had she ever even mentioned it?
“Oh, did I not say?” She looked surprised. “I was sure—no matter. I am Lady Carrington. The dowager Lady Carrington, that is.”
He certainly recognized that name. Most people working in the magical world would have known it. “Sir John Carrington’s widow? I believe I met your husband at my club a few times.”
She nodded. “Very likely. I do not care for London, so when Sir John went to town, he usually stayed at the Cambion Club.”
Her smile faded, and Lawrence wondered if the subject was still a painful one. If he recalled correctly, Sir John had passed away only a few years ago.
“I am sorry for your loss. My own wife passed away nearly fifteen years ago. I know very well how grief can endure.” Lawrence had recovered from his initial devastation, but even now a scent or phrase or memory that recalled Viola might send a pang through his heart.
Lady Carrington nodded sympathetically. “Life moves on. It is only a pity that he is not here to move on with it. He would have loved seeing how our children have grown up.” She lifted her chin. “But that is neither here nor there. I will see you tomorrow, Your Grace. Good night.”
When the door shut behind her, Lawrence sank into the chair near the fire. He prayed their magic would help him track Sally down, but he had his doubts. He had always been better at law than sorcery.
*
The next morning, though, he felt approximately eighty percent recovered. Hours of sleep and a hot breakfast went far in restoring him. When he met Lady Carrington in the inn’s private parlor, he was not precisely cheerful, but he felt considerably less despondent than yesterday.
She had beaten him there, and was already spreading a map on the table. Excellent! She clearly knew something about location spells.
“Where is your companion?” he wondered.
He distinctly remembered a girl of about Sally’s age in the parlor with Lady Carrington. He had no idea what the girl’s name was, or how she was connected to the widow, but he recalled the quiet intensity with which she listened to their conversation.
“Martha does not care for magic. It makes her nervous, I believe.” She frowned. “Most unfortunate, given how many people in the family have magical gifts. My son Roderick is the only completely mundane one.”
She shrugged away her concern. “Martha has only been with us for a few months, though. I am sure she will become more comfortable with magic as she grows used to our family. She is a cousin of mine, but the relatives who raised her were not magically inclined.”
“Oh, I see.” It took Lawrence a moment to digest that.
He hadn’t noticed any resemblance between the two women.
Lady Carrington had lightly-silvered blonde hair, and a pale pink-and-white complexion, while her young cousin had light brown skin and tightly curled hair.
She must take after the other side of her family.
“Now,” Lady Carrington said briskly, “what ingredients do you need for the spell?”
“None. I am a sorcerer rather than a wizard.” Wizards used magical ingredients such as herbs or minerals, but sorcerers worked magic with only words and gestures. “I need something to point out the direction, but anything light and straight will do—a pencil, perhaps.”
He patted his pockets in search of a pencil, but could not find one.
Lady Carrington pulled a sewing needle out of her workbag. “Will this do?”
“Perfect, thank you.” He placed the needle on the center of the map, then eyed Lady Carrington uncertainly.
The next step might be tricky. “In order to ground the spell, I will need to be in physical contact with you. You provide the attachment to the object of the spell, since it is your handkerchief rather than mine.”
Lady Carrington looked neither offended nor embarrassed. Being used to magic, she merely asked, “Will holding hands be adequate?”
“Yes, that will do.” Lawrence put a hand out and waited for her to place her own hand in his. The moment his bare skin touched hers, a jolt of awareness swept through him. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard her suck in her breath. Had she felt that, too?
Now was not the time for distractions, he reminded himself.
He needed to find Sally before she was ruined, assuming it was not already too late.
Sally had wisely taken a maid with her for the sake of propriety, but that might not be enough to preserve her reputation if people learned she’d run off with a fortune hunter.
While he loosely clasped Lady Carrington’s hand with his right hand, Lawrence rested the fingers of his left hand on the cool steel of the needle. Then he closed his eyes and drew on his magic.
He did not have much power at his disposal, but the magic readily answered his call. It welled up from somewhere deep inside him, spreading slowly until his fingertips fairly crackled with magic. Lady Carrington must have felt it too, because her fingers twitched slightly.
“Now,” Lawrence said softly, “describe the handkerchief out loud, if you please.”
“In Latin?” she asked.
A good question. The academic magic studied by wizards and sorcerers was usually written in Latin, which women rarely learned. Did Lady Carrington know Latin? He had not thought to ask.
“You can speak in English, unless you prefer Latin,” he told her.
“I have forgotten most of my Latin, so English it is.” She cleared her voice, then spoke a little more loudly. “The handkerchief is made of fine white linen, and it has the family crest embroidered in one corner.”
She went on to describe the color and pattern of the embroidery, but Lawrence listened with only half an ear. Since she was aiding the magic, he did not need to picture the handkerchief in detail. Instead, he concentrated on shaping the chaotic force of his magic into a manageable tool.
He listened just enough to tell when she finished speaking. Then he spoke the single word that tied the spell together: “Inveniator.” Let it be found.
The needle beneath his fingertips began to move. First it shifted forward. Then it slowly swung around like a compass needle. When the needle came to a halt, the flow of magic slowed to a stop, too, leaving his fingers numb. The spell had worked.
Lawrence drew his hand back and shook it, trying to dispel the strange sensation left by the spell. Then he looked down at the map, eager to learn where Sally had gone.